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1.
All the grass in the backyard is damp with dew when Shane slides the back door open to let Anya out. He’s not sure how this became his responsibility, what with Mr. “I’ll take care of her; you won’t even know she’s there” sound asleep in bed, but he finds that he’s not too upset about it. It’s become a nice part of the morning routine.
Anya does a mad dash loop around the fenced yard like always, as if something will have changed in the night without her permission, then begins to sniff around for a good spot to do her business.
Shane inhales deeply. It’s an early fall morning, cool but not yet cold. The leaves haven’t even begun to change yet. The grass is getting long too; Ilya will want to cut it this weekend. The sky is a morning twilight blue.
Anya, having completed her morning ritual, wanders aimlessly in the yard. “C’mon, Anya,” Shane calls, gentle so as not to shatter this quiet morning. “You want breakfast?” The dog’s floppy ears perk up at the mention of food, and she’s happy to trot back into the house.
Shane makes quick work of wiping the dew and grass off her paws before releasing her to terrorize the house, and then it’s off to the kitchen. He keeps the lights low, keeps his actions quiet. There’s no slamming of cabinet doors, no buzzing of a blender. Instead, Shane strains a few eggs whites into a bowl and sets a pan on the stove to warm.
Anya trots back into the kitchen and sits by her bowl, a silent request to be fed, and Shane obliges with a scoop of the ridiculously expensive dry dog food that Ilya insists she needs. He’s rewarded for his trouble with a brief lick of his knuckles before she tucks in to her bowl.
Ilya stumbles out of the back bedroom just as Shane is putting some spinach and feta into the egg whites. Shane smiles at the rumpled curls, the lazy yawn. Ilya scratches at his own bare chest. “Hey,” Shane says softly, “How’s your head?”
Ilya grunts, scratching Anya behind the ears before wrapping his strong arms around Shane’s waist from behind, hooking his chin over his husband’s shoulder. “Better,” he says. Ilya’s accent is always thicker in the morning, when he’s still soft from sleep and his tongue is a little too big for his mouth. “Sore, still. But not as bad as yesterday.”
Shane turns his head to the side just enough to kiss Ilya’s cheek without taking his eyes off the eggs. “That was a bad migraine,” he comments, “worst one in a long time.”
Ilya hums in agreement. He kisses Shane’s neck before padding off toward the coffee maker. “Is changing of the seasons, I think.” He pulls their respective mugs from the cabinet and sets to work measuring out the coffee grounds. Shane says they can just get the little pods, but Ilya says it’s “peasant coffee”, so fresh-ish ground coffee it is. Ilya grinds the beans before bed, because god forbid morning coffee takes longer than a few minutes.
Shane hums in acknowledgment. “Well, I requested a refill for the shot since we used the last one yesterday. And the new team doctor, that Trevor guy, he said you can start the preventative injections again if you want.” Ilya makes a face, so Shane is quick to interject again, “Not saying you have to. Just saying it’s an option.”
“Is three shots in one day!” Ilya protests weakly as the coffee maker starts to drip into their mugs.
“Yes, every three months. Or you can do the monthly ones.” Shane points out. He plates the eggs; tomatoes for him and not for Ilya.
Ilya makes a grumbling noise.
Anya, finished with her food, sniffles around to see if Shane has dropped anything while cooking. When she finds he hasn’t, the dog lets out a deep sigh and flops to the floor at Ilya’s feet. Ilya smiles warmly at her, “Маленькая девочка, почему ты расстроена? Почему ты жалуешься, huh?” He croons, crouching to tend to her. Anya preens at the attention, tail thumping as she tilts her chin to give him better access. “You just needed more kisses from your Papa, да?”
Shane snags his coffee mug from the machine. “I was thinking,” he says, sitting down at his plate.
“Did it hurt?” Ilya chirps with a grin, mirroring Shane and sitting down at his own breakfast. He leans over to kiss Shane on the cheek. “Thank you for breakfast, Моя редька.”
Shane snorts. “You’ve used ‘radish on me before, nice try. And anyway, I was thinking we could go up to the cottage early.”
Ilya hums around a full mouth but swallows before he answers. “Any particular reason?”
Shane shrugs. “Just itching to get out there, I guess. But with your head still hurting, it’s up to you. It’s a long drive.”
“Is not so bad anymore,” Ilya says. “If you drive, I will sleep in back with Anya.”
Shane grins, “You just want an excuse to cuddle Anya.”
Ilya gasps, scandalized, and reaches down to scoop Anya into his arms. “I never need an excuse to cuddle Моя милая маленькая девочка.” Anya wriggles happily until Ilya puts her down.
Shane’s grin widens. “She gets sweet little girl and I get ‘radish’?”
Ilya’s own grin grows and he leans into Shane, nudging Shane’s chin with his knuckle until he’s in optimal kissing position, “You are Моя редька. In Russia, this is very high compliment.” He punctuates his lie with a peck to Shane’s lips.
“It is not,” Shane says, but he can’t resist a kiss of his own.
“How would you know this? Did you grow up in Russia and I do not know?”
That actually elicits a laugh from Shane, “Shut up.”
Breakfast wraps up shortly after, and Ilya loads the dishwasher so Shane can go do his yoga. If Ilya were feeling better, he’d probably go admire the view, but his head is still pounding a little, so he opts to become a lump on the couch.
Shane emerges from their second bedroom, now turned into a rudimentary home gym, to find Ilya sprawled on the couch with Anya half on top of him. The TV is on, playing an early morning ESPN rerun of a Wayne Gretzky documentary, but Ilya has an arm thrown over his eyes to block out the blue light.
Shane snags Ilya’s sleep mask from the bedroom and comes to crouch by the sofa. Anya licks his arm lazily when it comes within reach. “Hey,” Shane murmurs, touching Ilya’s elbow to guide it up, “Lift your head for me.” Ilya doesn’t argue, just does as he’s told so Shane can slip the blackout mask on. He watches the tension in Ilya’s body bleed out.
Ilya lifts one of the mask’s eye patches, giving Shane a slightly mischievous look with just one hazel eye. “Do you know that I love you very very much?”
Shane smiles. “You might’ve mentioned it once or twice.” He leans down and kisses Ilya sweetly. “We don’t have to go to the cottage today. I want you to rest.”
“Give me two hours for nap,” Ilya says, pulling the mask down again and getting comfortable on the couch. He rubs Anya’s belly absently. “Then I will be fine.”
Shane wants to protest, wants to tell Ilya to just relax and the cottage will still be there when he’s feeling better. He wants to tell Ilya he shouldn’t have brought to up at all.
Instead, he just smiles. “Okay. Two hours.”
2.
“Shane, is ridiculous.”
“It’s *not*, it’s efficient!” Shane protests. He has half a mind to look around and make sure someone isn’t filming hockey power couple Shane Hollander and Ilya Rozanov having a squabble in the shampoo aisle. “Look, 3 in 1, okay? That means I don’t have to buy other stuff!”
Ilya turns the bottle over in his hands like it’s a bomb. “You mean to tell me that your skin is perfect and you use shampoo as body wash?!”
“It works just fine, clearly!” Shane can hear the pitch of his voice going up with his defensiveness.
“No,” Ilya says, putting the green bottle back on the shelf. “No, no, no. You are grown up. We get you real shampoo and conditioner and soap.” Ilya is already scanning the shelves.
Shane rolls his eyes, shifting the basket from one hand to another to examine one of the other options. “How did this become about me? You’re the one who’s out of conditioner.”
“Yes, because I have curls,” Ilya says, “they get dry.”
“I like your curls,” Shane feels the need to say, reaching out to plant his hand into the plush blonde locks.
Ilya hums, leaning into his hand. “What about this? It smells like eucalyptus.”
Shane takes the bottle from him and sniffs it a little. Huh. It actually smells pretty good. Then he sees the price, “Ilya!”
“Shane!” Ilya mocks.
“It’s the same price as my shampoo, and I still have to get conditioner and body wash!”
“Keep whining, Hollander,” Ilya says dryly, dropping the matching conditioner into the basket. “You will smell like Australian plant and you will like it.”
Shane groans but puts the shampoo in the basket too.
He’s even more irritated that night when he finishes toweling his hair dry to find Ilya was right. His hair is soft, a lot softer than before, and it’s fluffier too. Shane curses under his breath as he checks himself out in their bedroom mirror.
Ilya chuckles from the bathroom doorway. He’s got a towel low on his hips, a toothbrush and toothpaste foam hanging out of his mouth. “So handsome,” he says, slightly muffled by his full mouth. “And no longer bathing with motor oil.”
Shane follows Ilya back into the bathroom as Ilya rinses his mouth, glaring weakly. “There’s nothing wrong with my old shampoo.”
Ilya grins wolfishly at Shane in the mirror before saying mockingly, “Thank you, Ilya. I love you, Ilya. You always make me look so handsome, Ilya.”
Shane rolls his eyes but can’t help the smirk tugging at his lips, “Screw you.”
Ilya turns around, leaning against the bathroom counter. “Would you like to? Now is your chance before I put on pants.”
Shane saunters closer, grinding his hips against Ilya’s towel just to make the man gasp. He kisses Ilya hard, tasting the mint of his toothpaste. “You want me to thank you?”
Ilya’s eyes are flooded with desire, a devilish smile curling his mouth at the corners. “I think I deserve a thank you, don’t you? For rescuing pretty boy Shane Hollander from a life of dry scalp?”
Shane snorts, but yanks on Ilya’s towel, removing it in one swift move before lowering himself to his knees.
3.
Shane is leaning against the wall outside the Centaurs training center. It’s mostly empty, given that they just had a game last night and have the day off to rest. Normally, he’d be enjoying a morning in bed with his husband. Instead—
“I am alive,” Ilya announces dramatically, pushing open the door.
Shane can’t help but smile at that. “Yeah? What’s the verdict?”
Ilya grins broadly, showing off his brand new missing front tooth, courtesy of an enforcer from last night’s opposing team. Shane groans. “What?” Ilya feigns innocence, “You don’t like this look?”
“I actually prefer you with all your teeth, interestingly enough,” Shane says, falling in step with Ilya back towards the car. “What did he say?”
“A few months with flipper, then implant when the season is over,” Ilya reports. Both of them have half a mouthful of fake teeth, so none of it exactly new.
Even still, Shane groans again. “So now I have to put up with you popping that thing out with your tongue?” He slides into the driver’s seat.
Ilya waggles his eyebrows, leaning across the center console. “I can do many other things with my tongue.”
“It’s gross,” Shane replies before pecking Ilya briefly on the lips. “My mom said she’d stock us up on soup since you’re on soft foods this week.”
Ilya oohs, “What is one with spicy tofu?”
Shane snorts, “Soondubu. And since when do you like tofu?”
“I like Yuna’s tofu,” Ilya corrects. He laces his fingers with Shane’s where they rest on the gearshift, then brings Shane’s hand up and kisses it. “Yuna’s only.”
Shane chuckles. “Well, she’ll be flattered. I’ll text her when we get home.”
“No, no,” Ilya says, releasing Shane’s hand to dig his phone out of his sweatpants pocket. “I call.”
“Are you on something?” Shane quirks an eyebrow.
Ilya makes a face. “They give me little bit of laughing gas.”
A snort. “Good thing I don’t let you drive.”
Ilya already has the phone to his ear, “Hi,” he says when Shane’s mother answers. Shane can hear her voice through the phone, but not what she’s saying. “Yes, yes, it went fine. We are on the way home now and I have soup request.” He looks over at Shane, “Shane, what is—“
“Soondubu.”
“—Soondubu. With spicy tofu.” Shane smiles when he hears his mom laugh through the phone and say something else. Ilya groans. “Yuna, you are best mother-in-law I have ever had. See you tomorrow. Bye-bye.” Ilya hangs up the phone and gives Shane that toothless grin again. “She says I am favorite son.”
“Son-in-law,” Shane corrects.
“No, favorite son. She says. So does David.”
Shane snorts, “Fine, they can have you. But favorite son privileges mean you go to whatever campaigns my mom sets you up on…,” he gives Ilya a meaningful look, “even the energy drink ones.”
Ilya makes a disgusted face. “That is where I draw the line.”
“I thought so.”
They’re quiet for another minute, until Ilya pipes up, all too proudly, “Dentist says this is my tenth fake tooth.”
Shane cocks his head to think . “I think I have seven. Or eight, maybe.”
“I win,” Ilya says smugly.
Shane chuckles again, “I think this is one competition I’m okay with you winning.”
“The great Shane Hollander—“
“Don’t start,” Shane warns, pulling into the driveway of the house. He looks over at Ilya and his whole face softens. “You do look sort of cute missing a tooth. Like a little kid.”
Ilya’s face contorts from affectionate to disgusted. “What?!”
“What?” Shane asks back, equally confused.
“I do not want to hear that I look like little kid from man I am fucking!”
Shane looks all too amused, “Oh, so now I’m just the man you’re fucking?” He says, getting out of the car. “I’ll tell the lawyers to draw up some papers then.”
“I want to be hot and sexy husband!” Ilya complains, following him up to the house. “Not little kid! Those things cannot be true at the same time!”
Shane opens the door and Anya does her usual excited loop through everyone’s legs, “You are a very hot and sexy husband,” he concedes, “even missing your front teeth.”
Ilya boxes Shane in at the door, pressing a couple kisses to each of Shane’s hands before pressing another one to his mouth. “Hot and sexy husband. And don’t forget it.”